High Risks and Catastrophic Results: The Story Behind BP's Deepwater Well Blowout

The following is an excerpt from Bob Cavnar's new book, Disaster on the Horizon: High Stakes, High Risks, and the Story Behind the Deepwater Well Blowout (Chelsea Green, 2010)

Doug Brown found himself lying on his back--sprawled out on top of a metal deck panel on which, moments before, he had been standing, in the engine control room (ECR) of the Deepwater Horizon offshore rig. It was 9:50 p.m. and Doug, the offshore rig's chief mechanic, hearing an engine overspeeding, had just stood up from his computer to investigate when an explosion racked the otherwise normal night--the force of the blast hitting him from behind and knocking him face-first into the engine console. He bounced off the console and onto a deck panel covering a mass of electrical cables, but the panel collapsed and Brown fell through, ceiling insulation falling in on top of him. Looking out from his hole in the floor, he tried to orient himself. The room was dark and the hiss of escaping gas was deafening. Just as he tried to pull himself up and out, he was hammered with a second explosion--this one massive, driving him back down into the hole. Dazed and in shock, he didn't notice that his leg was broken, or that he had serious lacerations, or that, of course, he had a concussion. As he again dragged himself out of the hole, the hissing transformed into a violent roar. Burning oil and gas took on a life of its own, intensifying into a firestorm, engulfing the drill floor, and incinerating the derrick that rose above the rig floor just outside the control room. The CO2 fire-suppression system in the room had activated, displacing the oxygen. Breathing was difficult.

As Doug crawled out of the room and across the destroyed deck, he caught sight of Mike Williams, the chief electronics technician who had been working in his shop just adjacent to the engine control room. Bleeding profusely from a head wound, and also disoriented, Mike was crawling along the deck with a small flashlight clenched in his teeth, the only light to guide them out. Together they began making their way out of the blackness.

Having been just jarred out of bed, Steve Bertone, the rig's chief engineer, was running toward the bridge, dressing as he ran. The center staircase was blocked with debris, so he made his way to and up the port-forward spiral staircase until he reached the watertight door of the bridge. When he entered, the room was in chaos. Standing at his station, Captain Curt Kuchta was trying to make sense of what had just happened. Steve ran to his station, where his Simrad control screens confirmed his fears: The dynamic positioning system and thrusters that kept the floating rig in place were down. So were the engines. The rig was dead. He picked up the phone to call the engine control room, where Doug was supposed to be on duty. No dial tone. Setting down the useless phone, Steve rushed to the starboard window of the bridge, giving him a view of the rig floor behind him. The fire there was "derrick-leg-to-derrick-leg" and roaring over the crown, 240 feet above the deck.

At that moment, the port watertight door banged open. There stood Mike, so covered in blood that Steve didn't recognize him. Limping in behind him was Doug. "The engine room, ECR, and pump room are all gone!" Mike shouted, delirious from his head wound.

What do you mean?" Steve asked.

They're all gone. They've blown up," repeated Mike.

Steve ran to Mike, now recognizing his voice, and hollered out for medical supplies. "In the restroom!" someone shouted back. All Steve could find was a roll of toilet paper, which he applied to stop the bleeding on Mike's forehead. Steve had not noticed Chris Pleasant, the subsea supervisor, who had come in while he was tending Mike's injures. Chris was standing before the blowout preventer panel. Just seconds before, he had declared to Curt that he was going to "EDS"--that is, activate the emergency disconnect system to get the rig away from the blown-out well.